“I believe that Nahla, always wise to the needs of males of any Stamm, has prepared a small repast,” Rigi said, doing her best to sound exactly as her mother would on such an occasion. “If you would be so kind as to follow me, please?” Tomás kept one hand on the small of her back as they walked to the dining room. A platter of hot cheese rusks and a second platter of small sandwiches sat on the main table, while smaller platters and a bowl of fresh fruit graced the unofficial Staré table. Two sets of tongs, one silver, the other brass-colored, sat beside white and tan plates, waiting for Kor and Makana to help themselves. Two full sets of Staré dishes had been part of Rigi and Tomás’s wedding gifts.
Tomás and Uncle Eb tore into the food, Kor doing likewise. Makana helped himself after Kor had finished a second serving of both treats, and Rigi managed to snag two rusks before the men emptied the platter. “I assure you, dear, they did feed us,” Tomás said, managing not to choke on his food. Rigi heard Nahla’s footsteps and leaned out of the way as an enormous pot of tea, three cups, and sweetener eased onto the table.
Rigi wondered just when the army had last fed Tomás, or the navy, since he’d come in on a navy ship. “I was overseeing unloading and confirming leave forms, and missed the morning meal,” he admitted as he poured tea. Given the amount of food Uncle Eb had just put away, Rigi decided that he’d gotten distracted by something as well, or had left the house before Aunt Kay had breakfast on the table. Apparently Lexi did not cook. Rigi made a mental note to send Makana on a market run to get more of Nahla’s last order, assuming Tomás and Kor continued to eat like this.
Tomás rested one hand on her shoulder and sipped his tea, full for the moment. “I’m sorry about the delay, Rigi. Did you get the message?”
“Yes, I did, thank you for warning me. It didn’t throw things too far off kilter.”
“Oh good.” She refilled his cup, and Uncle Eb’s. He smiled. “Thank you. Has anything exciting happened in my absence?”
She tried to think of the highlights, so to speak. “The wombeast migration got within a few kilometers of NovMerv, leading to much fuss and little activity. It seems Governor Leopoldi is not a hunter. I just finished a portrait in pastels of Leonidas Chan’s pet wombow, and Dr. De Groet’s paper on the initial survey of Strahla City was met with disbelief, awe, questions, and two lawsuits. Oh, and Miss Leopoldi has returned to Home for her wedding.”
Rigi thought she heard someone muttering the Staré version of “good riddance,” but she didn’t turn to see. For all that Kor had at last developed better table manners, she still did not enjoy being around Staré when they ate. She continued, “And there will be fresh tam crisps with supper for those who want them.” A strong //approval/anticipation// scent cut through the spicy tea scent, and Tomás made a face. “For those who want them,” Rigi clarified.
“I do not understand why you don’t care for tam, either of you,” Uncle Eb frowned. “It is nutritious, has a smooth texture, fries quite well,” he swept one hand to the side.
Rigi and Tomás chorused, “It tastes foul,” looked at each other, and started laughing. “That is to say, sir, it has a bitter flavor and the, ah, mucilaginous texture is unappealing, even when breaded and fried crisp,” Rigi managed to explain. Her parents had never accepted “It tastes yucky” as sufficient explanation for not eating something.
“And despite claims to the contrary, it does not purify the blood and liver,” Tomás added. Uncle Eb gave them a disappointed look, as if they had failed some basic test of civilization. “I’m sure Nahla will make more than enough for you to have some, sir, if you would care to stay for supper.”
The corner of Uncle Eb’s mouth twitched for some reason. “Thank you for the invitation, but I suspect you would prefer a quiet evening without my old self getting underfoot. And Kay finished that mammal project and informed me yesterday that she would like to go someplace nice this evening. I fear the tam-patty take-out stand near Blue Star market is not what she has in mind.”
Tomás gave Rigi a narrow-eyed look for some reason. “I suspect you are correct in your assessment of the situation, sir.”
“Displeasing Mistress Trent does tend to have rather loud consequences,” Kor observed, speaking for the first time. “As I recall Lexissol rediscovered within living memory.” Rigi put her hand over her mouth to stop a giggle even as she blushed. Well, Lexi had deserved every word for suggesting that she and Tomás would anticipate the wedding! If the knowing look in Uncle Eb’s dark blue eyes was any hint, he remembered the incident equally well, and was thinking— Rigi felt her blush deepening. Nice young ladies did not think about such things. On the other hand, Tomás was here, and it had been eight months, and she really had missed him dreadfully.
The hand on her shoulder tightened its grip, and a smile appeared on her husband’s lips. “Quite loud, sir. I believe that particular tactical error has not been repeated.”
“Thus proving that the impossible can come to pass, namely Lexissol learning.” Rigi winced a little at Kor’s remark. He and Lexi got along, but they needled each other to the extent Stamm and rank permitted.
“And I do need to put things away, and to see about freeing my pay so my poor, patient wife won’t find an eviction notice on the door tomorrow,” Tomás said. He set the cup down and stood, carefully, as if he hadn’t quite readjusted to a full one G gravity. “And to luxuriate in unlimited hot water for washing. I never will understand the navy.”
“If you do, it probably indicates that you need to see a medic because you have suffered a concussion,” Uncle Eb sniffed. “No offense to your brother, Mistress Rigi.”
“None taken, because I suspect he would agree with you, so long as no other navy personnel were within hearing distance.” She stood as well, escorting the men to the door. Tomás got his things and she walked Uncle Eb onto the front verandah.
Uncle Eb turned and put both hands on her shoulders. “Auriga. That new training protocol. I do not care for what I see in Tomás. He will not hurt you, not knowingly, but the patterning… I’m not certain how to explain. It leaks.”
“Leaks, sir?” Tomás would hurt her without realizing it? She didn’t understand.
“Give him a little space, Rigi. And do not startle him, especially if he is sleeping.” He squeezed her shoulders with strong fingers. “Tell Makana and Nahla, and do not startle Kor, either, just in case. I suspect Kor will have fewer transition problems, just because he’s Staré and, well, Kor.”
“If Kor makes sense, then I’ll worry,” Rigi assured him. “Thank you. I noticed Tomás had the predator look, sir, like you do sometimes,” she ventured, not certain how to explain.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and relaxed his shoulders, lowering his hands. “That’s exactly what it is, Rigi, and what you need to keep in mind.”
“So I should not wear my leaper-fur vest and jacket around him without adding flower-scented perfume?” She dared to wink.
He laughed. “I shudder to think what mixed signals flower scented perfume would send on top of leaper fur.” He squeezed her hand. “You’ll do fine. Don’t be afraid of Tomás. He won’t hurt you. That much I can vouch for.”
“Thank you sir. Scout guide your way.”
“And may the Creatrix give you blessings.” He trotted down the two low steps and out to where he’d parked the rented runabout. The cold, wet breeze chased Rigi inside.
She heard Kor’s voice rising in both pitch and volume. “A what?”
“It was small, I assure you, first-Stamm sir,” Makana averred. “And it left before it sprayed more than two walls.”
Rigi gathered her dignity and walked into the family room to find Kor, ears back, staring at Makana, who was doing his best to hide amusement. “If you are referring to the stink-pig, it was outside your cottage, sir. And the tumble-gnaw never got past the fence. Martinus saw to that.” She looked from one male to the other. “The cleaners were here this morning, and if there is anything you need fro
m the market, sir, Makana and I will be going the day after tomorrow. If you prefer to go yourself, there is a wombow and cart available. The wombow’s name is ‘Slowth’.”
“Do you give all wombows names beginning with ‘s’ sounds?” Kor asked.
Rigi thought for a bit. “No, sir. Mister Trent borrowed one called ‘Lightning.’ It was the slowest wombow on Shikhari, or so he avers. And the wombow in the portrait is named Astrid.”
Both males released //amusement// and twitched their ears. Rigi nodded, smiled, and eased out of the room to go check on Tomás. He was in the bedroom, or actually was in the washroom. She heard running water sounds, confirmed that he’d put his dirty clothes in the basket, and left him alone. Rigi went into the office and answered a comm regarding another wombow portrait, politely declined to submit an illustration “in exchange for publicity,” and saved two invitations for her and Tomás to attend social events.
Oh. She blinked as she read a third invitation, or if she understood the words correctly a command, to attend a tea for the officers’ wives, sponsored by Lt. Col. Morgansi’s wife. Rigi pursed her lips as she considered the ornate script and formal wording, wording that had not changed since a century and more before the start of the human Diaspora. Mrs. Prananda had given her a set of manners and etiquette books and files as part of the wedding gift, and Rigi had been studying them. It all seemed rather complicated, trying to sort out who outranked whom. If she understood the precedence correctly, she outranked the wives of lieutenants, except that army lieutenants could not marry, or at least were not supposed to be married, and if a lieutenant came from a high ranking family on Home, his wife outranked other lieutenants’ wives of lower rank, even if he was the junior officer. As a captain’s wife, she would be very low on the social order, but Tomás’s awards added a little to her rank, if there were another captain who had been promoted at the same time as Tomás. Otherwise the wives of those promoted earlier outranked her. And he was young for a captain, so he did not have the total time in the army that other men did. Rigi thought that trying to organize a random group of Staré on first sight by Stamm, sex, and age would be easier. Stamm didn’t change, at least, not much and not often. Usually. Most of the time.
And why was she receiving an invitation if the military did not recognize her and Tomás' marriage? Had someone made a mistake?
“You look worried.”
Rigi turned around and smiled at her now clean and more relaxed husband. “Trying to decide if military rank and social functions are more or less complicated than the Staré Stamme. And why this arrived.” She gestured toward the screen.
He leaned over her shoulder and read the invitation. “I’d say more, but I am a mere man, and we cannot be trusted to make sense of such esoteric matters as officers’ wives’ society. Although I can explain why the invitation arrived. Col. DeLeon's wife informed the regiment that since she and the colonel attended our wedding reception, she considers you to be my wife no matter what the paymaster thinks. Apparently the commanding officer's lady has more lee-way in such protocols on colony worlds now.” He coughed a little, "Your rank among the Staré probably also has something to do with her decision."
Tomás straightened up. “Be of good cheer. As the lowly wife of a mere captain, you don’t have to worry yet about, oh, if Governor Leopoldi’s niece outranks the daughter or sister of a colonel who is from a noble family on Home. Or if a man’s social rank is by birth or promotion, and if so how it fits with his military rank for official social events.”
Rigi did not like his choice of the word “yet.” She saved the message and closed it, then logged out of the system. “So long as His Excellency Governor Leopoldi is here, I suspect I will not have to concern myself with such matters beyond the minimum.”
Tomás frowned, his black eyebrows drawing together, and squnched his nose. “I suspect you are correct in that, I’m sorry to say.” He stepped back a little, giving her room to stand. As soon as she did, he embraced her, kissing her cheek. “Oh, I missed you.”
“And I missed you.” His stomach growled and she giggled a little. “And it appears that it would be best to assuage your stomach’s hunger before seeing to other hungers.” She felt her face warming just a touch.
He kissed her again. “Indeed. Not the least because I shudder to imagine what Nahla would do if we allowed other—distractions—to keep us from her meal.” Tomás grinned and winked. “Battering the bedroom door down to complain would be my first guess.”
“Now, now, Nahla is not Shona. At least not yet,” Rigi assured her husband. “Do you need to log in?”
“Alas yes. Not alas for transferring funds to the household, I assure you my lady, but alas that Kor and I only have two weeks leave, and that only if nothing ‘interesting’ occurs.” He patted her rump and thumped into the chair, which creaked in warning at the harsh treatment and his larger frame. Rigi rubbed his shoulders and went to the family room. Her mending lay in a puddle of fabric in the chair seat and on the floor. Her mother would fuss if she were to see the disorder, Rigi sighed. She tidied the pile, sat, and resumed her attempts to create fabric out of nothing.
Tomás joined her some time later, picked up a data pad and began skimming the news feeds. He blinked. “Rigi, what do you know about the western plantations?”
“That a group of owners and managers, human and Staré both, chased off a crown inspector after he broke Stamm three times by forcing his way into the Staré living quarters on two different farms, instead of sending a view remote as he was supposed to. And the lump-fruit harvest is too good, so all the farmers will go bankrupt due to falling prices and will starve. Or so my brother’s father-in-law avers.” She tied off the thread and bit the end, tucked her needle into the pricklepig-shaped holder, and wound the remaining thread onto a little Staré-carved spool for later use. Frugality now prevented scarcity later, and the Creator and Creatrix frowned on needless waste.
“Ah, that explains the crown inspection office’s complaints and threat to remove the farmers’ licenses.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Some people will not learn, even if you use full-size holos, repeat the material four times, and hire dancers to dramatize the point.”
Rigi reminded herself not to roll her eyes. “The inspector believes that the humans ordered the Staré to obstruct the habitation check, I take it.”
“Exactly so.” His eyes narrowed and he glanced sideways, toward the door. “Perhaps I should invite someone from that office to look at the Staré barracks during primary shed.”
Rigi giggled, one hand over her mouth. “My dear, that is wicked. What color are the civilian inspectors’ uniforms?”
“Dark green, so the fur would not show as much as it might, more’s the pity.” He tilted his head to the side a little, looking past her in the way that meant he was concentrating. “No, not my barracks, the construction battalion’s barracks. They have mostly fifth Stamm.” Rigi envisioned the cloud of light brown and light-medium gray fur and smiled. “And the dust bathing facilities as well, since the inspectors are already on site.”
Rigi winced a little. Adult Staré did not dust bathe as often as pouchlings and hoplings did, but oh, the clouds that emerged when they dusted and un-dusted during shed! She’d had the misfortune to be passing by the dust-hut near one of the minor markets when someone opened the door and the wind swirled in, then out. “The inspector would not repeat the experiment.”
“Ahem.” Makana made a sort of throat-clearing noise and a bit of //faint-discomfort// wafted past Rigi's nose. “Supper awaits. First-Stamm sir has already eaten,” he reported before Tomás could ask.
Tomás turned off the reader, stood, and helped Rigi out of the rather deep chair, once she had moved the last mending out of the way. He kept one hand on the small of her back as they followed Makana into the dining room. A large, brilliant crimson and rich-blue-on-white covered serving bowl sat on the serving table beside the doorway to the kitchen. Someone had already set the pale w
ood dining table, and a serving bottle of teff-beer waited for them. Rigi sniffed silently and her mouth promptly began watering as a rich, slightly spicy meat smell reached her nose. Makana pulled her chair out and she sat. Tomás helped push the chair in, then sat as well. “Let us give thanks,” he chanted, and they sang his version of the thanks-for-food prayer. Once they finished, Makana served a lovely broth with bits of ginter and thin strips of blaustock. The native vegetable added a hint of bite to the broth without competing with the ginter. Tomás poured each of them a glass of beer, and Rigi sipped, letting the flavors blend.
She saw the tips of medium-dark ears barely poking out of the doorway, and said, “Nahla has outdone herself, I do believe.”
“Oh yes. This is a wonderful combination.” Tomás smiled as the ear-tips disappeared. While they finished the soup, Makana put a small table-tray beside each of them, for their dishes. They set the empty bowls on the trays, and he arranged the main course, spooning the chopped meat and caramelized vegetables onto plates, then surrounding them with a ring of field-rice. He served Tomás, then Rigi, and took the dirty-dish trays into the kitchen, returning them once Nahla had removed the bowls. For some reason, if the young female handled the dirty dishes, it didn’t affect her Stamm, but it could affect Makana’s. But he could touch the dishes once they came out of the cleaner. Rigi decided that if she didn’t understand Stamm by now, she never would, and no longer squandered precious mental effort on attempting to do so.
After two bites, Tomás shook his head a touch and smiled broadly, gesturing toward the serving bowl. “By the Hunter, this is excellent! Is this wombow yearling?”
Makana replied //faint concern,// “No, sir. It is leaper haunch.”
The humans blinked at each other. Leaper haunch? Rigi took another bite. The tender meat fell apart in her mouth, accented by the barely-crisp texture of the vegetables. “Either this was the youngest, laziest leaper on Shikhari, or Nahla has exceeded even Shona’s skill. But do not tell him I said that, please.”
Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four Page 3
